Patriotic Insanity
by dobbyfan18
Summary: Five years' worth of post-fireworks 4th of July one-shots. A showcase of how drastically my writing has changed is only a click away...
1. 2004 : in which George isn't very bright

Disclaimer: Now really. Read the author's note below and think about it. Do you HONESTLY think I could own any of these people/characters/places/etc.? -pauses while people who really care read it- Yeah, that's what I thought.  
  
A/N: Hi. I am hyper and awake from drinking Coke while watching fireworks (yes, it's the 4th of July and also considerably late at night). And so....here is an incredibly random fanfic, brought to you by dobbyfan18! (HP/Muggles/SpongeBob/LotR/some other stuff crossover. People are being way OOC)  
  
Daylan: I want a Harley Davidson bandanna.  
  
Wormtail: Me tooooo.  
  
Layna: OK, Daylan, sweetie, I'll go get one. -walks off-  
  
Wormtail: But what about meeee?  
  
Plankton: You have a missing hand. Live with it.  
  
Wormtail: But what's that have to do with anything?  
  
Plankton: -bursts into tears- Why must you test me like this?  
  
Wormtail: Because I am evil! MUA- ha-ha-ha-ha!!!!  
  
Daylan: You idiot! You can't even do an evil laugh right! It's more like this: Mua-ha-HA-ha-HA!!!!!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
¤Meanwhile...¤  
  
Layna: Hey, a Harley Davidson bandanna! Finally! -grabs bandanna off some dude's head-  
  
Dude she stole it from (herinafter referred to as Dude): Hey! Give that back!  
  
Layna: No! Nevaaaaaaaaaaaar!  
  
Annoying Software Salesman (oops, can't be abbreviated in a G-rated fic...): "Nevaaaaaaaaaaaar!"? Are you sure you don't mean "Never," "Neville," or "Nevada?  
  
Layna: Hmmm..... Well, I guess you could say "never" but I really think that "Nevaaaaaaaaaaaar" adds more expression and atmosphere and mockingness....wait! Do I have the mental capacity to understand what I'm saying, much less say it?!? Aaaaaaaaah! Brain overload!!! Not the sealing wax, no, anything but that! -collapses, begging the nonexistent sealing wax for mercy-  
  
Annoying Software Salesman: Well, that gets rid of her.... Wanna disco?  
  
Dude (the one Layna stole the bandanna from): Sure! -starts to disco with the annoying software salesman-  
  
¤Meanwhile...¤  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Plankton: -eats popcorn as his head bobs back and forth like he's watching a tennis match-  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Plankton: This is getting boring.... I shall go warn Legolas that a giant blue hot dog is going to attack him! -drops popcorn, puts on a superhero suit, and tries to fly-  
  
George (not Weasley, a different George): Duh, only I can fly! Oh wait, I'm in denial, aren't I? Oh well! Duh, only I can fly!  
  
Plankton: Fine. If I give you.... a maniacal cat, will you fly me there?  
  
George: It's a deal!  
  
Plankton: OK, take me to....well, wherever Legolas is!  
  
George: -takes Plankton to Mirkwood, which happens to be where Legolas is-  
  
Plankton: Thanks, pal! -pulls Crookshanks out of an extremely large pocket, says "Look, it's Scabbers!" and points at George-  
  
George: Yay, a maniacal cat! They're always so much fun to get attacked by! Oof!  
  
Crookshanks: -attacks George-  
  
George: Yay, I'm smothering! -thinks a minute- Hang on, I'm smothering! Get off me! -pushes Crookshanks off of him-  
  
Crookshanks (thinking): He's not really Scabbers anyway. I'll go find the real one. -runs off to where Daylan and Wormtail are still arguing about evil laughter-  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: Is not!  
  
Daylan: Is too!  
  
Wormtail: I cave, your way is better. I am now your loyal servant!  
  
Daylan: Loyal, my overly-curly-thanks-to-Photoshop-Elements-2.0 hair.  
  
Wormtail: Really, your hair is overly curly thanks to Photoshop Elements 2.0? You simply MUST tell me how you do it!  
  
Daylan: Oh, that's easy, you just get your picture taken by a girl on a rampage with a digital camera, have her download it, and send Layna to her house and suggest they use Photoshop Elements 2.0!  
  
Wormtail: -tries to do all of the above-  
  
Girl on a rampage with a digital camera: No, I don't want to make your hair overly curly thanks to Photoshop Elements 2.0!  
  
Wormtail: Whyever not?  
  
Girl on a rampage with a digital camera: Because you don't eat Crunch with caramel! So there!  
  
Wormtail: -crushes himself with caramel- How about now?  
  
Girl on a rampage with a digital camera: I said CRUNCH, you monkey butt, not CRUSH.... BUT since it's not every day you see some weird guy crush himself with caramel, I'll take your picture, I just won't make your hair overly curly thanks to Photoshop Elements 2.0, how's that sound?  
  
Wormtail: Um....overweight.  
  
Girl on a rampage with a digital camera: I know you are, but what am I? -runs away giggling maniacally, after taking Wormtail's picture-  
  
Daylan: Mmmm, cheesy!  
  
Legolas: -runs up screaming-  
  
Daylan: Hi, you're blond also! I'm Daylan and people sometimes call me a cheesehead. Which I'm proud to say I am.  
  
Legolas: Hi, short blond cheesehead. You must save me from, alas, not the giant blue hot dog that is supposedly going to attack me, but from -gasps- the Multicolored Swirling Vortex of Imminent Doom and/or Waiting!!!  
  
Trelawney: Fear not, tall pointy-eared guy, the Multicolored Swirling Vortex of Imminent Doom and/or Waiting, for I.... shall dance! -starts doing the salsa-  
  
(A/N: Just so you know, the Multicolored Swirling Vortex of Imminent Doom and/or Waiting is exactly what it sounds like: this little swirling thingy that my computer cursor turns into when it's going to take a really long time for something to happen or it's not going to happen at all.)  
  
Daylan: How interesting. Do you have free cheese?  
  
Trelawney (still dancing): I am afraid not, dear boy, but my Inner Eye does see large amounts of cheese in your future....  
  
Daylan: -jumps around on a pogo stick that he got from who-knows-where- COOL!  
  
Draco Malfoy: -appears out of nowhere, points at Daylan- AAAAH, my not-evil twin!  
  
Daylan (still on his pogo stick): -points at Draco- AAAAH, my evil twin, who incidentally has stopped slicking his hair back but still looks nothing like me except he's blond!  
  
Legolas: Hey, if I weren't so darn tall, we could be triplets!  
  
Daylan: You know, I still want a Harley Davidson bandanna.... especially if I get cheese with it.  
  
§§§lol, muchos insanity! Please review, people!§§§ 


	2. 2005 : in which the Marauders linedance

The hard-core pyromaniacs have only 27 minutes to blow up the last of their fireworks. That's right, it's 11:33 on the 4th of July, and I'm writing for this fanfic again. What more is there to be said?

§§§§§

Potter, why are you and your friends line-dancing?Because, dear Lily-flower, this is the day we got shot of those American Idiots!Don't try to fool me into thinking you're Green Day, because you're not!What the heck is Green Day? I've never seen a day that was green!It's a band, airhead!I like those... especially the blue ones...Was that really necessary, Wormtail?Well, no, but I do like those... and they're only 12 and a half cents at Island Oasis!There's no such thing as half a cent!Well, there was in the 1700's, and that's the time period we're line-dancing about!Ron, do you have any idea why Dean is waving a fish around?No, do you know why Hermione just flew by on a skateboard?Not a clue, why is that fourth-year throwing pictures of George Bush in the fire?Dunno, how come Parvati's trying to breakdance?Oh yeah, I forgot!It's something they're doing for Muggle Studies... they're pretending to be American Muggles because it's their Independence Day.Yeah, I know... bloody odd, those Americans are...

§§§§§

OK, first of all, before anyone gets offended, I'm an American too, and proud of it! I don't mean to upset anybody by mocking our strange culture... though I don't know where the fish thing came from, lol! So whether you're an American or not, feel free to fall over laughing... AND REVIEW!

Disclaimer: I don't own the world of Harry Potter. However, I do own the plot in these ficlets... however un-plot-ful it may be.


	3. 2006 : in which Lily only has one toe

Additional A/N that I am adding at the top for no reason whatsoever: WAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAA! TAKE THAT, KILEY! I GOT RID OF THE ODD LITTLE I'S AND PUT IN QUOTATION MARKS(I want to put an exclamation point here but the editor won't let me. Stupid editor.) : - D

A/N: FINALLY! A football/soccer/futbol team I was cheering for won a game in the Cup! I was cheering for the U.S. until Ghana beat them, then I cheered for Ghana, but Argentina beat Ghana so I cheered for Argentina, and Germany beat Argentina but I didnít have the heart to cheer for Germany so I was proud of the Italian team today! GO ITALY!

Anywho... 11:42 on the fourth and here I am, once again, trying to destroy the CD player... oh. Wait. That was the song Johnny made up that one time... What I'm actually doing is writing for this fic again. Enjoy, and don't question what the Marauders are doing at a firework display. They just _are_. Also, if you find anything in this chapter offensive for any reason, please don't be offended! (That sounds pretty stupid, doesn't it? But that's ok. Just don't miss Herman!)

§§§§§

Giggling from his caffeine-induced state (Wyoming), Peter announced to the world at large, "I am sixteen feet tall!"

"No you're not!" Remus interjected, headbutting him for no reason at all. "You're sixteen and _three-eighths of a foot_ tall!"

"Actually, he's five-two," James informed them. Cuddling with Lily had helped him retain his sanity -- mostly because Lily made him. But still.

"Aww, Jamesie, you're no fun," Sirius whined.

"Yes I am, you can ask Lily if you don't believe me!" his friend replied with a wicked grin. Lily, who was the only one of the five actually watching the fireworks, swatted him half-heartedly.

Gasping at the intended meaning of James's remark, Sirius fell dramatically off his chair, which was bright red, covered in burn marks, and of unknown origin.

"Gee Siri, that was graceful," Remus commented, hugging his bag of chocolate to him.

"How dare you call me ungainly!" Sirius shrieked, standing up and causing several of the people behind them to complain. "I am as graceful as a person named Philip!"

"That you are," agreed a random person who was standing nearby and happened to be named Philip. He then proceeded to trip over the pile of Dr. Pepper cans Peter had accumulated.

"H e e e e e e y !" Peter Petered. "That's my trash! _GET AWAY, YOU CANADIAN!_"

Philip the bystander looked offended. He also turned several strange colors in quick succession, and there has since been much debate over whether this was because of the fireworks or because Philip had some sort of rare disease. But that's a different story.

Meanwhile back on the ranch dressing, Remus was sporting a large, glittery hat that said 'I love old people!' on it, a relic of his first year. Because of this hat, several passing old people had stopped to shake his hand. Others had simply eaten Peter's potato chips, which, ironically enough, Peter wasn't nearly as attached to as he was to his garbage. In fact, you could interpret that literally, as Peter had taped an aluminum can to each of his legs. James and Lily (sometimes referred to as Stapler, a name coined by Sirius that was used interchangeably with the pair's names) had pointed out that the cans were going to be painful to peel off of Peter's legs, but he had been undeterrable for once in his life. Well, actually it was the second time, the first being the time in his pre-Hogwarts days that he had insisted that his mother buy a certain type of fabric softener.

And on that lovely Peter-related note, a train honked. If you listened very carefully and if you were also obsessed with Peter for some strange reason, it almost sounded as though it was honking, "P e e e e t e e e e r r r !" Only not really. Only geese – and sometimes Sirius – do that.

Speaking of Sirius, he had cartwheeled over to the group of people next to him and his friends and was brandishing a Cheeto at them, saying loudly, "I can put ducks in the toilet if I want to!" The strangers were telling Sirius to shut up and sit down – it occurred to him that it sounded as though that could be a painful process if both parts were carried out at once. Philip had wandered back over and was now humming and wearing a wig. Remus snatched the aforementioned wig off Philip's head and ran off, eventually presenting the wig to a woman in a green shirt who was sitting in a golf cart with a proclamation of "Great cheese comes from happy cows!"

"Shake that licorice, that licorice, girl! Shake that licorice... ARGH! AN ALLIGATOR!" cried Sirius.

"I'll save you, mate!" James warbled. Dunno why he was warbling, though. He then grabbed one of Lily's flip-flops (which for some reason only had an imprint from her big toe and rather made it look like Lily had only one toe) and beat the grass surrounding Sirius's chair. A grasshopper hopped disgruntedly away.

Philip walked back by -- still wigless, might I add. He seemed to have recruited a somewhat overweight woman, who was now humming with him. As the last firework lit the night sky, James pulled Lily in for a kiss, Peter admired his pile of trash, Remus did the tango, and Sirius fell off his chair again.

§§§§§

Woot.


	4. 2007 : in which James is egged

The clock on my computer reads 11:17 and unless I'm much mistaken (as are the pyros outside) it's the fourth of July. And so, without further ado, I present to you... Adventures In Baking, a Marauders Before Midnight fic.

---

"Hey, this looks good," Remus Lupin announced to the kitchen at large. The kitchen in question happened to be his own, and his three wizard friends were having a lovely time discovering – and unplugging – all the Muggle devices it held. "Red velvet cake?"

"Ack!" said Peter Pettigrew, whose head was in the microwave. "I hate the taste of velvet! Nasty stuff..."

He received questioning looks from James Potter, who was poking through all the cabinets, and Sirius Black, who was grinning as he flicked the dial on the stove back and forth.

"Nevermind," Peter said hurriedly.

"Eh," Remus muttered. "Oh, what about this?"

"What about what?" Sirius asked, peering over his shoulder at the battered cookbook. "Chocolate sheetcake?"

"Sounds good to me," James chimed in as he dug through a box of cereal in pursuit of the toy advertised on the box.

Peter, having finally extricated himself from the microwave, spoke his agreement before starting to rummage around for ingredients.

Five minutes later, Remus was still trying to find a mixing spoon, James and Peter were fighting over a bag of brown sugar, and Sirius was looking in horror at the bits of egg in his hand.

"Aha!" came a cry from the first as he emerged from under the sink, waving a wooden spoon in triumph. "Hey, let me pack that sugar."

"No!" James said stubbornly. "I've always wanted to – Padfoot, what are you – I don't even _like_ eggs!" He ended in a moan. "Fine, fine, you can just take the whole package, you bald hippies."

And with that, James retreated into a corner to try and get the egg yolk off the back of his shirt. Peter happily measured out sugar and Remus took on his new title of hippie, humming 'Where Have All The Flowers Gone?' as he stirred the contents of the solitary mixing bowl.

"You know, guys, I'm not sure it's supposed to be watery like this," he stated not long after.

"That's okay," said the now egg-free Sirius, who had been searching for an appropriate pan ever since he had wiped his hands on James. "You don't have a sheetcake pan anyway. Let's just use this!"

"That would be a cupcake tin, Siri," Peter pointed out.

"So?"

"Okay... chocolate sheetcake cupcakes... not bad, I guess."

"I'll get the soup ladle!" James hollered, brought out from his corner by his mysterious love of cooking utensils.

And so the batter was ladled into the cupcake tin (and onto Peter, but nobody likes to talk about that), the tin was slid into the oven, and Remus was informed of his terrible singing voice when he insisted on warbling 'Give Peace A Chance' throughout the entire process. In fact, the argument over this last piece of news was so drawn out that the sheetcake-cupcakes nearly burned. When they had been swiftly pulled out of the oven and then pried out of the tin by James and a pair of tongs, the four boys stared at their handiwork.

Finally someone said flatly, "They need frosting."

"And of course, there isn't any!" said a frustrated Sirius a few minutes later. The four wizards had nearly destroyed Remus's kitchen in their search for frosting. "Three bloody jars of peanut butter, but not a single one of frosting!"

"I found some honey, though," Peter piped up.

"I didn't even know we _had_ any sprinkles," added an unsettled Remus.

"All right, so we have honey and peanut butter and sprinkles," James summarized. "Are you three thinking what I'm thinking?"

And so the first batch of very ugly – but very tasty all the same – peanut butter-honey-chocolate sheetcake-cupcakes was made.

---

12:01 in the morning. I don't really... like... how this turned out. It seems really split up and just not generally smooth and balanced. Yippee! Actually, I have to be at an airport by this time in the afternoon, so I should probably get going to bed. But first a disclaimer.

This is such a closely-mashed amalgam of fiction belonging to the amazing J.K. Rowling, lifesnippets from various situations, and the rare original thought (heh) that I can't really sort out what's what and give credit for every inch of it. I will say, however, that the bald hippies line was something I thought Lennon-Seth said tonight while we were blowing things up, and much credit goes to my FCS class (especially Addie) and my good buddy Pappy.  
**  
**

**"Prongs has tongs and Moony has a spoony... but can Moony carry a tuney?"**

Reviews make me go squee.


	5. 2008 : in which Percy is panicky

As I type this author's note, it's 12:03 (shh, don't tell the people down the block; they're still lighting fireworks), though for the record I want you to know that all actual writing here was done before midnight. And so behold! My changed writing style, and also Percy's first day at the Ministry.

* * *

I am struck dumb, incapable of thought. I'm not worthy of thought!

Well, okay. Just a little bit, then. Just the one sentence running through my head: _The tour did not do this justice.  
_  
The tour I'm referring to is the one I was taken on at the tender age of fifteen, when I first expressed an interest in a Ministry career, and 'this' is, of course, the Ministry of Magic itself. Even then, the neatness with which everything was carried out – my tour group saw nothing we weren't meant to see, we were given strict guidelines regarding where we could and couldn't linger, shepherded along when we needed to be but allowed to gaze occasionally at the system that made our society tick – yes, the neatness ensnared me from the beginning. Father's warnings and his descriptions of sneaking, grasping beaurocrats had no place here. Did he walk through a different building on the way to his office than I did in the midst of a crowd of other Ministry hopefuls that day? The corruption he spoke of couldn't possibly be part of the beautiful order I saw at every turn.

Today is, if possible, even grander – and I can confidently assure you that's very possible. Far from the grumpy, elderly tour guide who gave me my first glance of the building and the out-of-place, seemingly juvenile Hogwarts uniform I wore that day, I am dressed impeccably in the official robes of the Department of International Magical Cooperation (oh! The name rolls right off my tongue!) and walking beside a _fellow employee_ from our _shared department_.

I have already lost track of the number of things he's mentioned, in the casual tones of a comrade who expects you to know all this already, which I had never even dreamed of. (Is this how Muggleborns feel upon induction into the Wizarding world?) After the first two quelling glances, I stop exclaiming over every new piece of information and try my best to sound world-weary.

I suspect that the bounce in my walk and the grin on my face, while kept to a minimum, detract from my 'Ordinary Day' act, but Herbert (for that is my coworker's name) does his best to ignore that. He's a good man, is Herbert.

The one thing about Herbert that bothers me a bit is his hearing problem. Of course, I'd be the last person to discriminate against wizards with disabilities, and I'm also harboring a small, gleeful suspicion that he was struck in the ear with a bean during the riot that infamously broke out during the South American Fair Trade Conference of 1992. Is it too much to hope for, being introduced right off to a veteran of international affairs? Either way, it's not much good for his tour-giving abilities; most of my questions have gone unanswered (or not answered satisfactorily – "So then how do Hit Wizards know when they need to come in to work?" "Yes, exactly."), and he seems to think my name is Weatherby.

"We've just about wrapped up the tour, then," Herbert tells me. "I've got a report to finish if you don't mind, and then I suppose I should take you to Crouch and see where he wants you put."

"Crouch?" I practically yelp. "As in _Mr._ Crouch? Bartemius Crouch, our Head of Department?"

"Er, no," Herbert says offhandedly. "His crazy, dead son."

This does not match up with what I've been told! What's Herbert think he's playing at? Some sort of imaginary interdepartmental intrigue?!

Seeing my borderline-apoplectic look, he clarifies: "Sarcasm, Weatherby. You ought to try it sometime."

"It's Weasley," I tell him, "and I'd rather you didn't joke about things like that, especially when they involve the man we answer to directly!"

"Whatever you say, Weatherby," Herbert says breezily, directing me into a chair as we reach his office. I glower at his misnomering of me, pausing only briefly to wonder if 'misnomering' is a real word and then decide that it actually isn't before throwing myself into full-fledged panic.

Oh God, oh God! I'm going to meet Mr. Crouch, and it's only my very first day here, and I've no idea what I'm going to say to him, and – _Merlin in tacky nylon parachute pants, I don't have a comb!  
_  
I frantically begin patting down my person in the vain hope that the witch who handed me these robes this morning knew this moment would come and thoughtfully left something in the pocket that would help with personal grooming. I find absolutely nothing, and the only things Herbert has told me about Mr. Crouch involve either his incredible pickiness about the way things are done (a man after my own heart) and his lack of conversational skills (_definitely_ a man after my own heart).

As Herbert sets a stack of parchment in his out tray and beckons me to the door, I am reduced to finger-combing my hair and wishing desperately for a lint roller. He leads me down a hallway, around two corners and finally to a door. I halt, twitching only slightly, to peer at the plaque on this door; it's certainly much nicer than the one I've seen on Father's cupb – er, office.

Herbert knocks twice on the door, and there is a pause before a voice says placidly, "Come in."

I follow Herbert into a room carpeted and painted entirely in neutral colors, with windows showing a well-kept garden a few feet below despite the department's position on the fifth floor. I take these details in quickly, and within a split second my eyes meet those of the man sitting behind an impressive mahogany desk.

"Mr. Crouch, sir, this is the newest member of the department," says Herbert. "He likes to be called Weatherby."

I have belatedly realized that I could have conjured as many combs as I needed in the past few minutes, but of course I can't do that now. Caught up as I am in insecurities and first impressions, I barely notice that Herbert has once again misnomered me, and once I do, I dwell deliriously on how nice a word 'misnomered' is and how it should really be used more often, sort of like the barcolounger we have in the sitting room at home that nobody ever sits in except me because they think it's awful and uncomfortable, but beige is a lovely color, really, just underrated –

Mr. Crouch is shaking my hand.

Bartemius Crouch is shaking my hand!

Oh, what's this, he's saying something...

"Welcome to the Ministry, Weatherby."


End file.
